Conversations With Dead People
Luna knows that she’s dreaming.
She knows that she’s dreaming because, on an ordinary day, certain things don’t happen even at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Like a dozen mermaids, leaping and frolicking and swimming through midair down a wide corridor of the castle. Mrs. Norris runs underneath them, swiping at their tails when they dip low enough.
Luna waits for them to pass before she continues on her way.
The wide corridor curves down and ever around. No stairs and no lights, though the way is perfectly bright. And periodically, like finding a clearing in the woods, it opens into a round chamber that must be passed through.
In one, smooth blue ice covers the floor, and Professors Dumbledore and Trelawny skate a graceful waltz to a scratchy record playing on an old victrola in the corner. Bobbing through the air, in time to the music, are pale, pearly, jellyfish-like creatures. Luna stretches out her hand to touch one as she passes.
“Mind the wrackspurts, Miss Lovegood. They’re delicate,” Professor Dumbledore says as he and Professor Trelawny glide past.
“Yes, Professor,” Luna replies, and continues on her way.
In another room, a dozen centaurs arranged in a circle juggle stars and moons back and forth at such a speed that they form a glowing dome that she must pass under to reach the other side. Another chamber is full of magic carpets, hanging from the ceiling and curled in on themselves, like so many colorful, exotic bats.
It’s all very interesting, but Luna doesn’t linger. The corridor keeps going, and Luna knows she is expected at the end of it.
She knows she’s close when the stone floor gives way to earth and grass and trees begin to stretch up out of the ground. The wide corridor becomes a narrow path, and on either side the ground is covered with thousands upon thousands of fat, blood red flowers.
The thestrals are eating the flowers with what appears to be great enjoyment.
Then there’s nothing at all but a field. And at the center of the field is a low table set for tea and a set of comfortably threadbare parlor furniture. A woman in pale yellow robes is sitting on the sofa, stroking a white rabbit that is napping in her lap. But at the sight of Luna she settles him instead on the ottoman and comes skipping forward.
“There you are,” she says, wrapping Luna in a hug as familiar as yesterday, smelling of nutmeg and vervain and hint of mandrake extract. “Did you have a nice walk?”
“Very nice.” Luna wraps her arms around her mother’s waist, and leans back a little to look up at her. It’s a much shorter distance than she remembers. “I’m not late, am I?”
“Never at all. Any time you came would be right on time.” With one hand resting on Luna’s shoulder and the other on her cheek, her mother smiles at her. And Luna knows she is being measured, more in growth than in height and age.
Her mother seems to like what she finds.
Hand-in-hand they stroll over to the sofa and settle down on the soft, worn cushions. The rabbit on the ottoman twitches his nose briefly and watches through half-closed eyes. Luna curls up against her mother’s side, head resting on her shoulder.
“So,” her mother says, cheek resting on the top of her head, “tell me something new that happened today.”
They had played this game every day. Tell me something new that you did today. Tell me something good that you saw. Tell me something bad that happened. What was the best thing that happened?
“Lots of new things,” Luna says, her eyes half closed. “But there’ve been a lot of days since the last time I saw you.”
Her mother chuckles. “Since you’ve seen me. Not since I’ve seen you,” she says. “Tell me about school. Is it going well?”
Luna leans her head back against the back of the sofa. The sky overhead seems to shift and change every time she blinks. Pink and gold dawn. Then deep, dark blue with silver stars. Then a froth of wooly grey clouds. Then the sharp bright orange of sunset. Then the green tinge that comes just before a storm.
“I like school. And classes. And my teachers.” Luna feels her mother smile against her hair. “But other things…..other things aren’t going so well at all. And I think they could get much worse.”
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Cedric Diggory. Professor Umbridge. Ministry lies. The Sorting Hat’s song. A storm is coming surely enough.
As if trying to be reassuring, the sky shifts again to the cozy blue-grey of twilight.
“Yes, I’d heard as much.” Luna’s mother squeezes her hand. “Are you afraid?”
“A bit,” Luna says. “Maybe more than a bit.”
Luna’s mother nods. “A bit, either big or little, is only good and proper, I think,” she says. “Do you know yet what you’re going to do?”
Luna snuggles in a little closer. “Not yet,” she replies. “Something. I don’t think that doing nothing is a choice, at least not one I want to make. But I don’t quite know what to do yet.”
“You’ll sort it out,” her mother says. “You’re such a bright girl.”
Luna smiles at that. “Do you think so?”
“I do. Watch and listen. You always did take everything in. You’ll know what to do when the time comes.”
Luna nods. “When the time comes,” she agrees. “But not this very minute?”
Her mother laughs and wraps both arms around her. “No, not this very minute. Let’s just stay here for a while.”
They sit there for what feels like a very long time, watching the sky overhead shift through colors and moods. They sit there until Luna feels her mother sigh a bit.
“Luna?”
“Yes, Mum?”
“Remember what I said. Watch and listen. And I’ll watch you.”
Luna frowns a bit, but nods. “I will.”
“Luna?”
“Yes, Mum?”
This time there’s not answer. And-Luna blinks-no one beside her on the sofa. No tea table. No dozing rabbit on an ottoman.
“Luna?” the voice says again, more insistently.
“Yes, Mum?”
Still no answer. But just for a moment, Luna feels her mother’s hand pat her cheek.
Then there’s another pat. This one different, not nearly so gentle. It stings enough to make Luna scrunch her eyes closed.
When she opens them again, she’s still sitting on a sofa, but not a threadbare one in the middle of a field. It’s a sofa in the Ravenclaw common room. And someone’s still smacking her cheek with ever increasing force, but it’s not Avonmora Lovegood. It’s Roger Davies, who is surrounded by six or seven other Ravenclaws.
“Lovegood!” he says. “Snap out of it, already.”
“Blimey, Roger, she’s awake. You can stop that now.” Enid, in her pajamas and dressing gown. Who must have followed her down from the tower, Luna guesses.
Roger stands up, looking relieved. And oddly, Luna thinks, like someone who has just had a dragon leap out from under his bed. He fishes through a few pockets before coming up with a wrinkly handkerchief which he holds out to her.
That’s also quite odd. Until Luna realizes that her face is completely wet.
“You just strolled downstairs, staring off into space, sat down on the couch, and just…..fountained.” Now Luna recognizes Roger Davies’ expression. It’s not really fearful. It’s just that panicked look that boys get when they see girls cry. “Didn’t make a noise or nothing. It was creepy.”
“I’m sorry,” Luna says, taking the handkerchief and mopping at her face. “I didn’t mean to cause a fuss.”
“You didn’t,” Davies sighs. And, true, the other few Ravenclaws still in the common room are drifting back to the tables of homework that, doubtless, have been what has kept them up so late. Everyone except Enid. “Just…..you might want to go see Madame Pomfrey in the morning. Or Professor Flitwick. Or something. Maybe.”
Luna takes pity on him, finishes drying the tears off of her face, and hands back the handkerchief. “Maybe I will do that. Thank you, Roger.”
Even though she’s sure they both know that she won’t. Ravenclaws just like to try to solve problems, that’s all.
Roger just nods. “Yeah. Take her back upstairs, would you, Enid?”
They climb the stairs back to their room in silence. Enid is discomfited, Luna can tell. She thinks that her roommate isn’t going to say anything on the matter at all, but once they’ve tucked themselves back into their beds again, she hears a question from the bed on the left.
“Luna?” Enid asks. “Was it a bad dream?”
Luna lays looking up at the hanging above her bed. “No,” she says. “No, it was quite a lovely dream, actually.”
“Oh.” Enid sounds doubtful. Luna hears the sound of blankets being arranged. “Well, best get some sleep. Potions first thing tomorrow. Won’t do to be half asleep in Snape’s class.”
“No,” Luna agrees. “But we can sleep in Defense Against the Dark Arts.”
There’s an amused snort from Enid and, a few minutes later, soft snores.
But Luna doesn’t sleep the rest of that night.
She knows that she’s dreaming because, on an ordinary day, certain things don’t happen even at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Like a dozen mermaids, leaping and frolicking and swimming through midair down a wide corridor of the castle. Mrs. Norris runs underneath them, swiping at their tails when they dip low enough.
Luna waits for them to pass before she continues on her way.
The wide corridor curves down and ever around. No stairs and no lights, though the way is perfectly bright. And periodically, like finding a clearing in the woods, it opens into a round chamber that must be passed through.
In one, smooth blue ice covers the floor, and Professors Dumbledore and Trelawny skate a graceful waltz to a scratchy record playing on an old victrola in the corner. Bobbing through the air, in time to the music, are pale, pearly, jellyfish-like creatures. Luna stretches out her hand to touch one as she passes.
“Mind the wrackspurts, Miss Lovegood. They’re delicate,” Professor Dumbledore says as he and Professor Trelawny glide past.
“Yes, Professor,” Luna replies, and continues on her way.
In another room, a dozen centaurs arranged in a circle juggle stars and moons back and forth at such a speed that they form a glowing dome that she must pass under to reach the other side. Another chamber is full of magic carpets, hanging from the ceiling and curled in on themselves, like so many colorful, exotic bats.
It’s all very interesting, but Luna doesn’t linger. The corridor keeps going, and Luna knows she is expected at the end of it.
She knows she’s close when the stone floor gives way to earth and grass and trees begin to stretch up out of the ground. The wide corridor becomes a narrow path, and on either side the ground is covered with thousands upon thousands of fat, blood red flowers.
The thestrals are eating the flowers with what appears to be great enjoyment.
Then there’s nothing at all but a field. And at the center of the field is a low table set for tea and a set of comfortably threadbare parlor furniture. A woman in pale yellow robes is sitting on the sofa, stroking a white rabbit that is napping in her lap. But at the sight of Luna she settles him instead on the ottoman and comes skipping forward.
“There you are,” she says, wrapping Luna in a hug as familiar as yesterday, smelling of nutmeg and vervain and hint of mandrake extract. “Did you have a nice walk?”
“Very nice.” Luna wraps her arms around her mother’s waist, and leans back a little to look up at her. It’s a much shorter distance than she remembers. “I’m not late, am I?”
“Never at all. Any time you came would be right on time.” With one hand resting on Luna’s shoulder and the other on her cheek, her mother smiles at her. And Luna knows she is being measured, more in growth than in height and age.
Her mother seems to like what she finds.
Hand-in-hand they stroll over to the sofa and settle down on the soft, worn cushions. The rabbit on the ottoman twitches his nose briefly and watches through half-closed eyes. Luna curls up against her mother’s side, head resting on her shoulder.
“So,” her mother says, cheek resting on the top of her head, “tell me something new that happened today.”
They had played this game every day. Tell me something new that you did today. Tell me something good that you saw. Tell me something bad that happened. What was the best thing that happened?
“Lots of new things,” Luna says, her eyes half closed. “But there’ve been a lot of days since the last time I saw you.”
Her mother chuckles. “Since you’ve seen me. Not since I’ve seen you,” she says. “Tell me about school. Is it going well?”
Luna leans her head back against the back of the sofa. The sky overhead seems to shift and change every time she blinks. Pink and gold dawn. Then deep, dark blue with silver stars. Then a froth of wooly grey clouds. Then the sharp bright orange of sunset. Then the green tinge that comes just before a storm.
“I like school. And classes. And my teachers.” Luna feels her mother smile against her hair. “But other things…..other things aren’t going so well at all. And I think they could get much worse.”
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Cedric Diggory. Professor Umbridge. Ministry lies. The Sorting Hat’s song. A storm is coming surely enough.
As if trying to be reassuring, the sky shifts again to the cozy blue-grey of twilight.
“Yes, I’d heard as much.” Luna’s mother squeezes her hand. “Are you afraid?”
“A bit,” Luna says. “Maybe more than a bit.”
Luna’s mother nods. “A bit, either big or little, is only good and proper, I think,” she says. “Do you know yet what you’re going to do?”
Luna snuggles in a little closer. “Not yet,” she replies. “Something. I don’t think that doing nothing is a choice, at least not one I want to make. But I don’t quite know what to do yet.”
“You’ll sort it out,” her mother says. “You’re such a bright girl.”
Luna smiles at that. “Do you think so?”
“I do. Watch and listen. You always did take everything in. You’ll know what to do when the time comes.”
Luna nods. “When the time comes,” she agrees. “But not this very minute?”
Her mother laughs and wraps both arms around her. “No, not this very minute. Let’s just stay here for a while.”
They sit there for what feels like a very long time, watching the sky overhead shift through colors and moods. They sit there until Luna feels her mother sigh a bit.
“Luna?”
“Yes, Mum?”
“Remember what I said. Watch and listen. And I’ll watch you.”
Luna frowns a bit, but nods. “I will.”
“Luna?”
“Yes, Mum?”
This time there’s not answer. And-Luna blinks-no one beside her on the sofa. No tea table. No dozing rabbit on an ottoman.
“Luna?” the voice says again, more insistently.
“Yes, Mum?”
Still no answer. But just for a moment, Luna feels her mother’s hand pat her cheek.
Then there’s another pat. This one different, not nearly so gentle. It stings enough to make Luna scrunch her eyes closed.
When she opens them again, she’s still sitting on a sofa, but not a threadbare one in the middle of a field. It’s a sofa in the Ravenclaw common room. And someone’s still smacking her cheek with ever increasing force, but it’s not Avonmora Lovegood. It’s Roger Davies, who is surrounded by six or seven other Ravenclaws.
“Lovegood!” he says. “Snap out of it, already.”
“Blimey, Roger, she’s awake. You can stop that now.” Enid, in her pajamas and dressing gown. Who must have followed her down from the tower, Luna guesses.
Roger stands up, looking relieved. And oddly, Luna thinks, like someone who has just had a dragon leap out from under his bed. He fishes through a few pockets before coming up with a wrinkly handkerchief which he holds out to her.
That’s also quite odd. Until Luna realizes that her face is completely wet.
“You just strolled downstairs, staring off into space, sat down on the couch, and just…..fountained.” Now Luna recognizes Roger Davies’ expression. It’s not really fearful. It’s just that panicked look that boys get when they see girls cry. “Didn’t make a noise or nothing. It was creepy.”
“I’m sorry,” Luna says, taking the handkerchief and mopping at her face. “I didn’t mean to cause a fuss.”
“You didn’t,” Davies sighs. And, true, the other few Ravenclaws still in the common room are drifting back to the tables of homework that, doubtless, have been what has kept them up so late. Everyone except Enid. “Just…..you might want to go see Madame Pomfrey in the morning. Or Professor Flitwick. Or something. Maybe.”
Luna takes pity on him, finishes drying the tears off of her face, and hands back the handkerchief. “Maybe I will do that. Thank you, Roger.”
Even though she’s sure they both know that she won’t. Ravenclaws just like to try to solve problems, that’s all.
Roger just nods. “Yeah. Take her back upstairs, would you, Enid?”
They climb the stairs back to their room in silence. Enid is discomfited, Luna can tell. She thinks that her roommate isn’t going to say anything on the matter at all, but once they’ve tucked themselves back into their beds again, she hears a question from the bed on the left.
“Luna?” Enid asks. “Was it a bad dream?”
Luna lays looking up at the hanging above her bed. “No,” she says. “No, it was quite a lovely dream, actually.”
“Oh.” Enid sounds doubtful. Luna hears the sound of blankets being arranged. “Well, best get some sleep. Potions first thing tomorrow. Won’t do to be half asleep in Snape’s class.”
“No,” Luna agrees. “But we can sleep in Defense Against the Dark Arts.”
There’s an amused snort from Enid and, a few minutes later, soft snores.
But Luna doesn’t sleep the rest of that night.